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The Sun Has To Shine On Every Dogs Ass At Least Once
A short tale of James Sheffield. Just a piece of this mans life and his ordinary madness.
[1,207 words]
Literary Fiction
Jeremy Lucko
The path I have travelled in life has led me to many unique experiences and characters. Take a moment to view my tales of ordinary madness.
[May 2005]
[email protected]
The Sun Has To Shine On Every Dogs Ass At Least Once
Jeremy Lucko

     I am not sure where the place was. Somewhere north-east of Vancouver. Ernest Franks, a champion no-holds-barred cage fighter, had just finished a book, come in from Europe somewhere, and he was in the ring fighting somebody. There were newspapermen, critics, writers- that tribe- and also some young ladies sitting in the ringside seats. I sat down in the last row. Most of the people weren't watching Franks. They were talking to each other and laughing.
The sun was going down. It was some time in the early evening. I was watching Franks. He had his man, was playing with him. He jabbed and landed at will. Then he took the other fellow down. The people looked then. Franks allowed his opponent to get up almost immediately. Franks moved towards him, and then stopped. Franks pulled out his mouthpiece, laughed, and waved his opponent off. It was too easy a kill. Franks walked to his corner. He put his head back and somebody squeezed some water in his mouth.
I got up from my seat and walked slowly down the aisle between the seats. I reached up and rapped Ernest on the side.

"Mr. Franks ?"
"Yes, what is it ?"
"I'd like to fight you."
"Do you have any professional experience ?"
"Go get some, the cage’s no place for a rookie."
"I'm here to kick your ass."
Franks laughed. He said to the guy in his corner, "Get this guy into some trunks and gloves."
The guy jumped out of the ring and I followed him back up the aisle to the locker room.
"You crazy man?" he asked me.
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Here, you can wear these fighter trunks."
"Oh, oh...they're too large."
"Fuck it. They're all right."
"OK, let me tape your hands."
"No tape."
"No tape?"
"No tape."
"How about a mouthpiece?"
"No mouthpiece."
"You gonna fight in them shoes?"
"I'm gonna fight in these shoes."

     I lit a joint and followed him out. I walked down the aisle smoking a joint. Ernest climbed back in the ring and they put on his gloves. There was nobody in my corner. Finally someone came over and put some gloves on me. We were called into the center of the ring for instructions.

"Now when you clinch," said the referee, "I'll...
"I don't clinch," I told the referee.
Other instructions followed.
"OK, go back to your corners. And at the bell, come out fighting. May the better man win. And." he said to me," you better take that cigar out of your mouth."
When the bell rang I came out with the joint still in my mouth. Sucking in a mouthful of smoke, I blew it in Ernest Franks face. The crowd laughed.
Ernie moved in, faked and jabbed, and missed with his punch. I was fast on my feet. I danced a little jig, closed the distance, jab hook uppercut hook low kick, a slick 5 strike combo. Franks nose dribbles a little crimson. I glanced down at the girl in the front row, a very pretty thing, and just then Ernie landed a right, smashing that joint in my mouth. I felt it burn my mouth and cheek, and I brushed the hot ash off. I spit out what's left of the joint and threw a kick into Ernie’s side. He uppercut with a right and caught me on the ear with a left. He ducked under my right and pushed me into the corner. Just at the bell he pulled my legs out for a slam. I got up and walked back to my corner.

     A guy came over with a bucket.
"Mr. Franks wants to know if you'd care for another round?" the guy asked me.
"You tell Mr. Franks that he was lucky. Smoke got in my eyes. One more round is all I need to do this job."
The guy with the bucket went over and I could see Ernest laughing.
The bell rang and I came right out. I began landing, not too hard but with good combinations. Franks retreated, missing his strikes. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
"Who is this guy?, he was thinking. I shortened my punches, hit him harder. I landed with every strike. Head, body and legs. A mixed variety. I stalked like panther and hit like an anvil.
     I had Franks up against the ropes. He couldn't fall. Each time he started to fall foreword I straightened him with another punch. It was murder. Death in the moonlight.
I stepped back and Mr. Franks dropped foreword, out cold.
I undid my gloves, used my teeth, pulled them off, and leaped from the ring. I walked into my dressing room, I mean Ernie's dressing room, and took a shower. I drank a bottle of beer, lit a joint, and sat on the edge of the trainers table. They carried Franks in and put him on another table. He was still out. I sat there naked, watching them worry over Ernie. There were women in the room but I didn't pay much attention. Then a guy came over.

"Who are you?" he asked. "What's your name?"
"Jamie Sheffield."
"Haven't heard of you," he said.
"You will," I said.

     All the people came over. Franks was left alone. Everybody was crowded around me. The women too. I was pretty starved-down, except for one place. A real class lady was looking me up and down. She looked like a society bitch, rich, educated, and everything - nice body, nice face, nice clothes, all that.
"What do you do?" somebody asked me.
"Fuck and drink."
"No, no, I mean what's your occupation ?"
"Gun runner and slave trader," I said, "like Artroud."
"Gun runner ?"
"Slave trader ?"
"Like Artroud ?"
"Do you have a hobby ?"
"Well I don't know if you can call it a hobby. I write."
"You write?"
"Short stories mostly. They're pretty good."
"Have you been published?"
"I haven’t submitted."
"Where are your stories?
"Over there," I pointed to a torn canvas backpack.
"Listen I'm an editor for a local paper. Do you mind if I take your stories home and read them? I'll return them."
"It's OK with me, bud, only I don't know where I'll be."
The classy bitch stepped foreword. "He'll be with me."
Then she said, "Come on, Jamie, get into your togs. It's a long drive in and we have things to...talk about."
I got dressed and then Franks regained consciousness.
"What the hell happened?" he asked.
"You met a pretty good man, Mr. Franks," somebody told him.
I finished dressing and went over to his table.
"You’re a good man, Ernie. Nobody wins them all." I shook his hand. "You should have been more aggressive."
     I left with the rich chick and we got into an open topped yellow car about a half a block long. She drove with the throttle to the floor and took the curves sliding and screeching and without expression. That was cool. If she fucked like she drove I was in for one hell of a night.



"This author is the greatest lover in the world." -- Kristine.


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© 2005 Jeremy Lucko
May 2005

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